


Alone

by Emptynarration



Series: Alone [1]
Category: Youtube RPF, Youtube egos, markiplier - Fandom
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Anal Sex, Author turns into Host, Begging, Blood, Blood and Gore, Crying, Drug Use, Drugs, Eye Gouging, Eye Trauma, Face Slapping, Foreplay, Gore, Hallucinations, Headspace, Hospitalization, Hospitals, Human Trafficking, Humiliation, Injury, Kidnapping, M/M, Master/Pet, Non-Consensual, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Non-Consensual Touching, Objectification, Oral Sex, Pain, Painful Sex, Pet Play, Punishment, Rape/Non-con Elements, Rough Sex, Sad, Self-Doubt, Self-Esteem Issues, Self-Hatred, Sexual Slavery, Slapping, Slave Trade, Slavery, Sobbing, Starvation, Swearing, Toy Play, Trans Character, Trans Male Character, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, Verbal Humiliation, Violence, power changes, trans author
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-16
Updated: 2020-02-16
Packaged: 2021-02-28 04:53:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,719
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22758103
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emptynarration/pseuds/Emptynarration
Summary: It had been a day like any other.Until Author got kidnapped, drugged, and sold as a slave.Knowing no one would care, knowing the other egos would behappyhe was gone.He broke as he was abused.When Host came to be, he didn't think he deserved to be taken back to the other egos.All NSFW is able to be skipped, as it is marked, and contains no important plot points.
Series: Alone [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1803103
Comments: 21
Kudos: 62





	Alone

**Author's Note:**

> Tags should contain all warnings, sadly in no specific order.
> 
> All NSFW is able to be skipped, as it is marked, and contains no important plot points.

Author never was a fan of the others. Now, that may be because ever since he became an ego, Dark kept a close eye on him. And maybe it was his own fault for being hated by the few that there were, because he hurt them. To his defence, it wasn't exactly... his fault. Now, you may argue, “you hurt them so it must be your fault!” and I'd say you're right, but then again... not.  
He didn't know much about his powers. He didn't know much about being an ego. He wanted to know, because he craved knowledge. Hurting himself just wasn't enough to know. He was the one holding the pen, and he could only do so much to himself before he was unable to write. So he needed someone else. And he knew no one wanted to get hurt for his experiments.  
So Author kidnapped them and hurt them. He did make sure they didn't die, and they'd be fine afterwards, but still. He knew it was his fault they hated him, and he knew there was nothing he could do about it. He hadn't even been bothered by it, because he was egotistical, selfish, he only cared about himself. And he didn't need friends, or anyone else.

He kind of regretted it now. He hadn't thought of what could happen to him. Living alone in a cabin in a forest, where he never thought many people would be. Which was true. And that became his downfall, mixed with no one wanting to know he existed.

These people had outnumbered him, had grabbed him when he was walking alone and unsuspecting through the forest. Drugged him, just for him to wake up being literally _dragged_ somewhere, through cold stone halls. He fought back, growled and snarled at them, and he was getting close enough to nearly claw someone's eyes out.  
And then he felt the syringe getting stabbed into his neck, something injecting, and quickly, his fight faded. His thoughts became slow and sluggish, and his thoughts floating away from him. There was no more fight as a collar was clasped around his neck, tight enough to dig into his skin and hurt, and his arms were pulled behind his back, wrists clasped into handcuffs that rubbed open his skin.

There were a lot of people here. Some were drugged, sitting there with an empty gaze. Some were crying, sobbing, alone or having found a shoulder next to them. Some looked afraid, tense, not knowing what to do and what was going to happen. Some were in shock, expressionless, some hyperventilating.  
No one wanted to be here, no one knew where they are, no one knew what was going to happen. They were all on their own, no matter how some tried to comfort some of the others, how some worried about the drugged people.

They were sitting there, in near total darkness, for who knows how long. Until the door opened, people came in, and grabbed them. They vanished in groups of fives, little by little. Author barely realized when he was grabbed, stumbling along as the man holding him dragged him away. Time was slipping through his grasp, and suddenly they were ripping off his clothes, until he was bare, and pulling something else onto him. Quickly, he was dragged off once more, and he was just tumbling along. He was disoriented, everything felt heavy and slow.  
He was dragged somewhere with bright lights, and they blinded him, making him squint his eyes. It was too bright, and he could hear voices, hard wood beneath his bare feet. He was pushed to his knees, manhandled into position, and then just left there.

There was a loud voice, speaking through a microphone, but Author couldn't focus on what was being said. Numbers were said, he could tell that much, and something about beautiful specimens, and this and that. He couldn't focus on the words, he could just hear people, there was an audience? It wasn't very loud, only this announcing person was, saying numbers, which were rising and rising.  
He was being sold, he realized slowly. His head hurt thinking, but he knew what was happening to him. He was being sold as a slave. And he knew that there would be no one who would care. He didn't have friends, he didn't have  _anyone_ . It settled heavily in his gut, and his unfocused gaze fell to the ground. He didn't have anyone who'd care. Who knew what was going to happen to him? 

A hand grabbed his hair, yanking his gaze up, and a pained gasp left him. He couldn't see anyone against the harsh lights, he couldn't see  _anything_ . Not that it would matter. He heard the announcer count down, and then his hair was let go, as a loud “Sold!” rang out.  
He was grabbed and pulled up to his feet again, and he stumbled along. Had he been alone? Had he not noticed the others being sold? He wasn't sure, but it also didn't really matter, he knew that it didn't matter. He was thrown into a room again, and there he was, waiting with others once more.

His thoughts were drifting, slow, lazy. He thought about the book he had been writing, and the character that would be getting away now. He thought of the other egos. They would be glad he was gone, wouldn't they be? They hated him. They didn't want him. He would be blaming the drugs that he felt so terrible about it, that he felt so bad about not having anyone who cared he was gone, that he felt so  _sad_ that the others would be  _happy_ he was completely gone from their lifes.  
He could feel tears running down his cheeks, and he could do nothing to stop them. It just happened. He felt like a bystander, watching his body from afar. He felt the tears, but it didn't feel like him. He was just watching, he wasn't in control. 

He was blaming the drugs.

Time passed, because time didn't just stop, but Author wasn't aware of it. It felt like barely seconds passed, when in truth it was over an hour, before there were people who came in and dragged single people out again. He was also dragged and pulled along, so he just stumbled after the person who was pulling him along, until he was standing again.  
There was some man in front of him. He was well dressed, a bit smaller than him. He was talking with the person who was next to Author, who he hadn't even realized was there. Probably the person who sold him. Money was handed over, and then a leash was clipped to the front of his collar.  
Once again, Author was pulled along, and he had to stumble after where the leash was pulling him to. He didn't pay attention, he  _couldn't_ pay attention. Until he was outside, because it was cold, and then he was shoved into the trunk of some car? He curled up, engulfed in darkness as it was slammed shut.

He felt the car start. He was getting tired, the drugs starting to make him drowsy. It didn't take long and he was falling asleep, curled up and cold in someone's trunk.  
He was woken up when there was someone pulling him out, letting him fall onto the ground, waking him with a start. He was immediately yanked up by his hair and dragged along, and Author struggled to get up and follow.  
“Let me go!”, he growled, the drugs having worn off during his sleep, however long it had been. The person dragging him yanked harshly on his hair, making Author wince. He was forced to follow, unable to get away with the grip on his hair and how fast he was forced to walk.

There was a mansion in front of him, not as huge as Dark's mansion -he shouldn't think of them- which looked well taken care of. He didn't want to be here. He wanted to go home, and make sure he would never be taken away again. But he may never be able to see his home ever again.  
He was brought inside, where he was shoved to the ground, kicked in the back of his knees to make him fall. He hit the cold tiles, and he glared up at the man holding him, his hand in the back of his collar, tightening it further and making it painful.  
The man in the suit walked up to them, and Author couldn't help the hateful glare he was directing at the man. He hated him, he hated him with a passion, and he would be more than happy to kill him. But his arms were tied behind his back, and he was being choked, so there wasn't a lot he could do.

“I am Tristan Thompson, your owner and master. You are to address me as such. You will not talk unless spoken to. You will do whatever I tell you to do. You are to listen to my servants, as you are nothing here.”, Tristan spoke, and Author snarled.  
“Go fuck yourself.”, Author replied, venom dripping from his voice. As answer, he got slapped, his head turning to the side from the force, cheek throbbing.  
“Punishments will be completely of a painful nature. If you act out too much, I will keep you drugged into submission until you submit by yourself.”, Tristan continued then, and Author kept snarling at the man. He wouldn't be broken. He would always act out against this, and he didn't give a shit if he got hurt for it.

Tristan stepped up closer to Author then, gripping his chin and tilting his head up, smirking down at him.  
“I'm certain you'll do wonderfully as my new toy.”, he hummed, and Author growled at him, hating the man in front of him. Thankfully, Tristan stepped away again then, and looked at the person holding Author in place.  
“Bring him to my room and prepare it.”, he told him, and the man nodded with a confirmation and “yes sir”.  
Author was yanked to his feet, and pulled along by his leash once more, the writer unable to do anything but follow. He looked around, trying to memorize his surroundings, so he knew how to get out again by himself. He hoped he'd get a chance for it soon, all he needed was to have his hands free. As long as they were handcuffed, or tied, or whatever, he wouldn't be able to do anything. He just had to find  _something_ to write with, and then he'd be good to go.

He was brought into a bedroom that looked more or less impersonal, and manhandled onto the bed. His wrists were taken out of the cuffs, but Author couldn't overpower the man as he forced leather cuffs on them, clicking them together behind his back once more. The collar was tightened even more, so it was choking Author and made breathing harder. The leash was tied to a bar by the headboard, and after some pulling, Author knew that wouldn't budge.

========Sorta Nsfw-ish, nothing actually sexual happening yet========

He watched as the man prepared some things, setting them out of his reach onto the bedside table. Two little bottles, two syringes, condoms, lube, toys. Author growled, glaring at the man. He didn't want this to happen to him, he didn't want this, but he couldn't do anything against.  
The man didn't give even a single glance towards Author, before he left. Author was alone, unable to move much more than his legs. With the leash tied as it was, he couldn't scoot any further down the bed, and probably couldn't even get more than a step away from the bed if he managed to get off of it.

Author stared at the ceiling while he was alone, waiting. He was going to be someone's fucktoy, without the status of being a person anymore. He had to get away, as soon as possible. He just had to get his hands free, and get something to write. And then  _nothing_ could stop him anymore. He just had to get there.

He had no clue how much time passed, before the door opened again. In came Tristan, which didn't surprise Author at all. Apparently he wanted to test him out, after all, and Author didn't look forward to it. He growled at the sight of the man, and Tristan chuckled in reply.  
“Let me go, piece of shit.”, Author snarled, golden eyes trained on the man as Tristan walked around the bed, standing next to him then.  
“Now now, I believe you shouldn't be talking back to your owner like that.”, Tristan hummed, pulling off the tie he was wearing. He rolled it up, and pinched Author's cheeks, until he forced the man's mouth open, and he shoved the tie into his mouth. Author growled, shaking his head, but all it did was choke him some more.

“There we go. Your voice might be pretty, but if all you do is speak such _ugly_ words, I'd rather you not use it.”, Tristan hummed. He climbed onto the bed and straddled Author, sitting on his thighs so he couldn't kick them. Author glared at him and still tried to struggle, but he wasn't able to do pretty much anything.  
“Let's see how pretty you really are.”, Tristan hummed, pulling the robe up to bunch around Author's neck pretty much. He chuckled, taking in the thin and feminine body beneath him.  
“My, aren't you beautiful?”, Tristan chuckled, running his fingers along Author's body. There were quite a few scars, Tristan could see some here and there, feeling over them, watching Author shiver. Tristan's hands moved down further, along Author's V-line, and he smirked as he saw Author's genitals.

========Nsfw now, sexual stuff is happening========

“No worries, as toy I don't address you as anything but an object anyways.”, Tristan hummed, rubbing his fingers through Author's folds. He pressed and rubbed over Author's clit, watching the man squirm and squeeze his eyes shut, loving how he could tell how much Author hated this. Breaking him would be _delicious_.  
“A virgin, hm? Doesn't surprise me. I can't wait to take it away from you.”, Tristan chuckled, pressing his fingers into Author. The man was shaking, breathing shaky. It was wonderful to watch.

Tristan thrust his fingers into Author, his other hand rubbing at his clit again. His gaze was trained on Author's face, watching him bite down on the tie, breathing hard. Only once he had forced an orgasm out of Author, feeling him clench and twitch around his fingers, did Tristan pull his hands away. Grabbing a tissue from the bedside table, he cleaned his fingers, before he grabbed some lube.  
He got off of Author, and roughly manhandled him into a new position. He got the writer on his knees, pressing his face down into the mattress. The position was uncomfortable, painful on the neck, with Author's arms still tied behind his back. Tristan didn't give a shit though, as he pulled his dick out of his pants and gpt some lube on. Leaning over Author, he grabbed a handful of the man's short hair, yanking his head backwards, so he was resting on his chin, making it all even more uncomfortable.  
“Let's see how good a toy you are, hm?”, he hummed, smirking. He pushed into Author, the man whimpering beneath him, breaths harsh. Tristan was so nice as to push in slowly, until he bottomed out.

He waited a bit, before he grabbed Author's hips with both hands, and started to slam into him. He could hear Author whimpering and gasping around the tie in his mouth, but Tristan didn't give a shit. He pounded into Author, grunting.  
“You're so fucking tight. God you feel so good, hot and wet. I'll fuck you so much you won't ever feel the same.”, he groaned, skin on skin slapping against each other, obscene sounds echoeing through the room.  
Tristan could see Author tearing up, could hear his breaths shaky through gasps and whimpers. The man beneath him was shaking, and Tristan was _living._ If he could break his new toy simply via fucking him, he'd be more than happy to do it that way.

When he came, Tristan thrust deeply into Author, shallowly fucking his cum into him. He wondered if he could get Author pregnant. How wonderful would _that_ be? Get his bitch pregnant, let him go through the pains of child birth, and give the child away, just to get him pregnant again. He'd see if Author would get pregnant, he wouldn't force it or make sure he wouldn't.  
He kept thrusting harshly into Author then, reaching a hand down to also rub at Author's clit, uncaring if it felt good or hurt. He only cared when he forced another orgasm out of Author, feeling the man clench around his dick so wonderfully, before he pulled away. He slowly pulled out, and roughly pushed Author, who gladly let himself fall to his side, neck aching. His eyes were teary, which he just couldn't help. He hated this, it was terrible, and he couldn't imagine a life like this.  
Tristan pulled the tie out of Author's mouth, and Author took deep breaths, before biting his lip. Tristan smirked down at him, loving the sight below him.

========End of Nsfw, just some small mentions of sexual things========

“Aren't you a pretty girl?”, Tristan hummed, caressing Author's cheek. He looked so good in tears, and so clearly pained and hating this. Tristan loved it. He loved breaking new pets, there was truly nothing better.  
“Leave me alone, fucking freak.”, Author muttered. There was little bite to his words, though the hate was still evident in his gaze. Tristan could only laugh, shaking his head.  
“Now now pet, I might just have to shut you up.”, Tristan hummed, getting off the bed. Author didn't have it in him to watch where he was going, just taking deep breaths. How did his life come to this? _Why_ did this have to happen to him?  
Tristan came back, and pulled Author onto his back again. Climbing onto him once more, but this time settling on Author's chest. It was uncomfortable, it hurt, especially with the added weight pressing on his arms he was laying on. In his hands, Tristan held a ball-gag. Author was already hating it, but he couldn't do anything as the man pushed the ball into his mouth, and securing it behind his head.

“There we go. Now, I have some more work to do. You be a good toy and stay where you are, after Justin takes care of you.”, Tristan said, getting off of Author. He tucked himself back into his clothes, after wiping his dick clean. He left the room, and in came the guy Author was guessing was Tristan's bodyguard or something like that.  
Justin came in shortly after, untying the leash and pulling Author off the bed by the collar, choking him. He fell painfully to the ground, and then dragged over to some big chest. After being pulled on his knees, Justin unclasped the cuffs, yanking his arms to the front, where he clipped them together again. The robe he had been wearing was pulled off, and the chest was opened.  
Author couldn't do anything as the man picked him up and unceremoniously dumped him into it, pretty much. Author was forced to curl up, and he looked up, only to see the top being closed. His eyes widened in fear, and then he was engulfed in darkness.

The box was lined in some soft fabric Author couldn't name. It was... comfortable. Staying curled up probably would be rather uncomfortable and leave him sore after a while, but there was nothing he could do about that. There was enough air in here at least, and he suspected that there was some way to get fresh air in here so he wouldn't suffocate.

He still couldn't wrap his head around this. He was _put into a box_. He shifted, pushing against the lid, just to find it locked. Well, it probably had a latch, he hadn't paid attention before. It was locked in a way someone on the inside couldn't open it, but anyone on the outside could.  
He was a literal toy. He was an object, and nothing more. Put into a box until needed. His stomach growled, and he sighed. His jaw was already beginning to hurt, drool collecting in his mouth, or more accurately inside of the ball -it had holes for easier breathing.  
This couldn't be what his life was going to be. Put in a box, and only pulled out to play with. He had to get away. He _had_ to get away. He just wasn't sure when he would have his hands free, would have the opportunity to even try and get a pen. If he was kept in this box whenever alone, he'd never get one. If his hands were always cuffed, he might never get one.  
It was terrifying. He didn't want to think of the future, of what was going to happen to him further. He knew he had to keep his resolve, and not break, even if he was raped repeatedly.

He managed a sort of doze as he laid there, unknowing how much time passed. By the time the chest opened, everything ached, and his jaw was sore. The light spilling into the chest now blinded him, and he squeezed his eyes shut as he was roughly pulled out, tumbling to the ground as the chest was closed behind him again.

“Now toy, since you've been so bad-mouthed today, you won't get any food today.”, Tristan was standing in front of him, looking down at him. Drool was dripping out of the ball-gag, dripping onto him, and Author never felt more disgusted. Justin undid the gag, and immediately, Author spat the drool left in his mouth right at Tristan.  
The effect was immediate.  
Tristan backhanded Author, and his hand wrapped around Author's throat, squeezing the collar and cutting off Author's air-supply.  
“Now listen here, _bitch_.”, Tristan said, pressing Author back over the chest, the back of his head connecting with the lid, back forced to arch. “You are _nothing_. You don't get to talk back to me, or _spit_ at me.”.

Tristan spat right into Author's face, and the glare he had intensified.  
“Stupid cunt.”, Author managed, even without getting air to breathe. And he didn't have time to breathe when he was let go either, because instead of his throat, now his hair was grabbed, and his head was slammed into chest multiple times.  
“How long are you planning on running that mouth of yours?”, Tristan asked, voice ice-cold. Author felt a headache knocking on his head, and he took a deep breath.  
“Depends on how long you plan on being a little bitch.”, Author replied, which this came, got him a kick in the mid-section. He was let go as another kick to his stomach made him double over, gasping for breath. His wrists were taken and roughly pulled up, forcing him into an upright position, but also making him feel like his shoulders were going to be dislocated.  
Still, Author glared at Tristan, uncaring about Justin being the one holding him like this. He may be defenceless, but he wouldn't stop speaking. He was manhandled by the grip on his wrists, pulled to be bend over the chest. Justin put a foot onto Author's hands, setting all his weight on it, making Author inhale sharply at the pain.  
He could do nothing as Tristan kicked his legs apart, and groped his ass painfully. Author was breathing heavily, biting his lip, already knowing what was coming. He could feel the other shift and move behind him, and there was possible nothing worse than that.

========Nsfw now, sexual stuff is happening========

Tristan smirked, a hand fisted in Author's hair and keeping his head pulled back as much as possible. He rubbed his dick through Author's folds, humming lightly. Author was chewing his lip, forcing himself to stay silent, because he was already hating this so much.  
Tristan pushed into him then, not taking much time with it. Author was still dirty from yesterday, though he wasn't anywhere near aroused to make this easier for the writer. Not that Tristan gave a shit, because he started thrusting immediately, making Author gasp sharply in pain.

Author could barely help himself from making sounds. It _hurt_ , how Tristan was fucking into him, how his head was held back, the boots pressing down on his hands. It all hurt, and he was gasping with each thrust, tears gathering in his eyes unwillingly. Everything hurt, and this was what, the second day? He supposed his first proper day here, and just his first morning. He was already suffering more than he wanted to imagine his life to be.  
When Tristan leaned over him, he pressed Author's head against the chest, his face digging into the ornate design of the chest. It just added to Author's pain, but he couldn't help the yelp when Tristan bit into his neck, hard and painful, and slamming harder into him.  
Author was above begging though. He would endure this, and he would do it as quiet as possible. He couldn't help the sounds that did escape him though, the gasps, the winces, the pained whimpers.

Tristan's thrusts became near erratic, and when he finally came, Author couldn't help but whimper. It made him feel so disgusting, and he knew he couldn't do anything against it. Tristan added another bite next to the first, drawing blood with this one, causing pained sounds to come from him.  
“If you're a good toy and listen, I won't have to hurt you this much. And you'd enjoy yourself a lot more.”, Tristan hummed, pulling back from Author. Even when the man let him go, Author didn't attempt moving. He didn't attempt speaking either, but he did whimper when something cold was pushed into him, Tristan's cum helping it slide in. A piece of tape taped something to his inner thigh, and then the vibrations started. Author gasped when it happened, clenching around the bullet vibe inside of him.

Justin finally pulled his foot away from Author's hands, and roughly wiped him off, before pulling the man to kneel again, turning him around so his back was to the chest once more. Author was exhausted, he was in pain, and he just wanted this to end. His eyes were wet, a few stray tears having managed to find their way down his cheeks. He looked up at Tristan, and still managed a glare. He wasn't going to be defeated so soon.  
Tristan merely smirked, gripping Author's hair again. He rubbed his dick over Author's face, making the writer grimace in return, before the tip was pushed against his lips.  
“Clean up.”, Tristan said, and thanks to Justin pinching one of Author's nipples to make him gasp, Tristan could easily push into his mouth.

Author just let him, because he didn't have the energy to fight more, and he didn't feel like receiving more pain. So he let Tristan fuck his mouth, until the man seemed satisfied and pulled away. Rubbing his wet dick over Author's cheek, before Justin handed him a tissue and he cleaned up.

========End of Nsfw, just some small mentions of sexual things========

“Since you've taken this so well, I'll grant you something to eat. Stay where you are, or I'll change my mind.”, Tristan said, patting Author's head, before turning to leave. Justin waited a bit, before he followed along. They left Author alone, and out of the chest, as well as only with his wrists together in front of him.  
Taking deep breaths, Author struggled to get up to his feet. He was shaking, he was cold and in pain, but he had a chance. He just had to find a pen, and while he might not be able to find a writing utensil, he was going to try his absolute hardest. If he didn't try, it was just like he had already given up. And he certainly hadn't.

His steps were small, and unsteady, but he managed. He ignored his body's pains, eyes flitting around as he tried to find a pen, or pencil, or even eyeliner or something! Anything he could write with! His hands were in a position he could write with, and he could write on himself, or the wall, or something.  
Everything was so orderly, and Author couldn't find anything. He needed something. He needed something to properly be able to write with. Enough blood would also be usable, but Author didn't want to try and hurt himself in a way he'd have so much blood to write with, and he probably didn't have the time for it anyways.  
He stumbled back to the chest, falling to his knees in front of it. He wasn't giving up. He was playing it safe. He wasn't sure how much longer he had before they came back, and he didn't need to let himself be starved and hurt even more. At least for the next few hours, which would probably be spend in the box again.

It didn't take much longer and the door opened again, and in came Tristan and Justin. The latter was staying by the door, thankfully, and Author watched Tristan. He had a plate with him, and he looked over Author again. Seemingly satisfied Author hadn't moved too much from the position he had been left in, Tristan set the plate down on the ground in front of him.  
“You'll be eating without your hands.”, Tristan said, and he grabbed Author's wrists, yanking them up. For letting Justin do most of the work, he wasn't exactly weak. Tristan could unclip the cuffs and pull Author's arms behind his back to clip them again, making sure that Author couldn't use his hands anymore.  
Author glared up at Tristan, shaking his head. “You're not getting me to eat like a fucking animal.”, he growled, and Tristan chuckled.  
“Either that, or you won't get any food at all.”, Tristan replied, smirking. Author scoffed, and he shifted to kick the plate away, glaring up at Tristan. He would rather not eat than be reduced to eating like some animal.

Tristan's gaze turned cold, and he picked up the plate, letting the remains of the food fall to the ground. He took only one step forward, and that was to get some momentum, as he swung the plate at Author's head.  
It connected with a dull sound, and Author crying out in pain. The plate was _hard_ , and his head was already throbbing, having been hit like that against the side of his head. He barely noticed when he was picked up, and dumped into the chest again. With his arms behind his back, it was a lot more uncomfortable than having them in front of him. But the pain in his head was much greater, and he let himself fall unconscious. It hurt, and he hurt all over anyways. Sleeping would help with that, hopefully.

The next days were demotivating. Author truly got no food, which his stomach was soon protesting. Added with the general pain of sex and forced orgasms, as well as him always running his mouth and getting punished for that.... he may be suffering.  
He wasn't left alone at all, unless he was inside of the chest, of which he couldn't get out of. When he was out of the chest, he was either being used as what he had been bought for, or got roughly cleaned up.

It had been almost a week. Author's wrists were clipped to the front of his collar, and his legs bound in a bend position, rendering him unable to stand or straighten them, he could barely move. He was kneeling in front of the chest, facing the bed.  
On which sat Tristan, holding a bowl of soup. And he was eating it so slowly, so noisy, so teasingly, that Author was truly suffering. His stomach was growling, and it _hurt_ , and he just needed _food_. But he didn't want to beg. He couldn't. He _couldn't_.  
But he could smell the soup, and it smelled so good... and he was _so hungry_...  
“Please...”, he whimpered, looking desperately at the bowl. He couldn't help it. He _needed_ food, and his only option was to beg. But Tristan didn't reply, he didn't even _look_ at him, and Author whimpered a bit louder. He didn't want to do this. He didn't...  
“ _Please_ master....”, he forced out of himself, because he couldn't help it. He needed food, and he was entirely defenceless, and useless, and his resolve was breaking away bit by bit.

“Do I hear something?”, Tristan questioned, only briefly glancing at Author, before taking another noisy spoonful of soup.  
“Please master, can I have something to eat?”, Author asked, louder, and obviously desperate. He didn't care what he had to say or do now. He was _hungry_ , he was _starving_ , and food was so, so close...  
“What are you?”, Tristan asked, looking down at Author. He visibly swallowed, looking at the ground.  
“I'm... I'm master's toy.”, Author replied quietly, licking his lips. “I'm an object.”, he said a bit louder, so he didn't have to repeat himself again.  
“Good toy.”, Tristan stood up, but didn't come towards Author yet. “What will you do to get food?”.  
“Anything.”, Author replied, whining slightly. “I'll do anything at all.”. He was desperate, obviously so, and he didn't care what he looked like now. He was on his own, and who could care if he gave in a little bit, for just a little while? It wasn't like anyone would know.

“Good toy.”, Tristan praised again, and he finally walked over to Author. Getting down on one knee, he held a spoonful out for Author, who greedily took it without a thought. He shuddered at the warmth, and the delicious taste, and he looked desperately at Tristan for more.  
“Please... can I have more?”, he asked, when he figured he had to ask or Tristan wouldn't give him more otherwise. Thankfully, that seemed to be enough, and Tristan began to properly feed him. Author eagerly swallowed everything he was being given, barely caring to chew what little solids were in there.

Tristan stopped once the bowl was empty, and Author was relaxed. He felt _so_ much better finally having eaten something, and he didn't give a damn that he had had to beg for it. No one but Tristan and Justin would ever see him again most likely, and if he couldn't get a pen, he would eventually break. He was already starting to crack, or else he wouldn't have begged for food. He wouldn't have started to struggle less and less with each passing day. But hunger and pain made resisting more hard, and so he rather begged to get food than not.  
“Good toy.”, Tristan praised once more, and he ran his hand through Author's hair. He'd been good in the last few days. Once his hunger got really painful, he had became much more obedient. In turn, he wasn't hurt, and usually Tristan even made sure that he wasn't in much pain when he fucked him either. Obeying was just... so much nicer.

“See how much nicer it is being good?”, Tristan hummed, cupping Author's face in both of his hands, touch so gentle and warm. Author couldn't help when his eyelids felt heavy, and he let them droop a little.  
“You're not missing out on anything. You're better off not worrying.”, Tristan murmured, his thumbs rubbing over Author's cheeks. And wasn't he saying the truth? The book he'd been working on was ruined now anyways, with the character probably long since escaped. And there wasn't any family or any friends who cared about him either.  
“I'm taking good care of the things that are mine. And you'll be so happy if you just obey to me.”, Tristan continued, obviously knowing Author was breaking away under his hands. And Author listened. No one ever cared about him. So why not let Tristan care about him? Even if he was nothing but a toy, it was better than the alternative. Fight against him, be in pain, for the small chance of finding a writing utensil and being able to go home.

Where he would be alone. Where people were so close, yet so far, and all hating him. Why should he go back there? It didn't matter, if he was Tristan's toy or not. He wouldn't have a big difference if he struggled against Tristan or not in the end. And if he gave in now, it would be much easier. And his decision. This was his decision. He was deciding to stop struggling, and obey Tristan. It wasn't a decision he _wanted_ to make, but it was better than being broken down completely. And he had avoided being drugged so far.

Tristan ran his hand through Author's hair with a smile, and the writer let his eyes fall closed completely. It felt nice, and Author decided maybe it wouldn't be too bad. He'd get used to the sex he didn't want, and the chest may be uncomfortable for a long time, but only because his limbs ached after it. The chest itself was comfortable, and warm, and easy to breathe in.  
Author couldn't be more satisfied with the status of “toy” he was given like this. He was treated well if he obeyed. Even if he was humiliated a lot, and didn't really like what was happening. He just went through it with a detached feeling of himself, watching his body like a bystander, instead of being the one controlling the body.

Throughout the days, Author got used to it.  
On rare occasions, he even got to sleep with Tristan in the bed. There was nothing better, and he had been so good he was even fed. It was wonderful, and Author lived for the little moments where he was treated just a bit better. Rarely, he was left alone, and outside of the chest. Now, most of the time he was restrained in some form at the very least, but there were opportunities he was completely alone, and had all the opportunities to go and find himself a pen.  
But he didn't. He didn't stray from where he was, and just waited patiently. He knew he could go and find a pen. He knew he had the opportunity to. But he didn't see a reason as to why he should anymore. His purpose had been writing, but now it was to be a toy. Did it really matter if he was one or the other? He didn't think so, and thus, he didn't care.

He had no clue how long he had been here already. He was used to the leather of the collar digging into his throat, the soreness of his wrists underneath the cuffs. But Tristan had decided he should take a walk every day, and was allowed to go through the whole manor. It was mostly because Author's muscles were wasting away, with how much he was in the chest, and Tristan didn't want that at the very least.  
So Author found himself walking around daily, being given a onesie to keep him warm. Tristan's room was always warm, but the rest of the manor wasn't necessarily. So Author got a soft fuzzy onesie for walking around, and Author enjoyed the texture of it a lot. It was cute, a little baby like, but at least very warm. And it had feets, so his feet didn't get cold either walking around.

It was one of those occasions he was walking around. He knew how to get back to Tristan's room, but he liked exploring. He never once looked to find a pen, never once cared to leave again. It was the main reason he was allowed to walk around on his own.  
He passed a reflective surface, and froze. Staring back at him was.. himself, but also not. Like a double, a man with no eyes, and blood covering his face and dripping down onto his body.  
Author stumbled back, breath caught in his throat. The man looked just like himself, with the collar and cuffs Author never got to take off, naked, but covered in blood. The only difference were the missing eyes, and the golden streak in his hair.

He kept moving then, feeling anxious. He saw it again, and again, and he ran. He ran back to Tristan's room, nearly slipping with the soft fabric under his feet, until he was back. Back at his chest, safe, where he was always allowed to come to even when he was supposed to take a walk.  
He climbed into his chest, curling up, closing the lid after himself. He was hiding, hiding from that image, from the man who looked like him but didn't. Even without eyes, he'd looked so broken, so _sad_ , that Author didn't want to think that was him.

But it was, and he was terrified. When he had calmed down a little, and peeked out of the chest, a choked whimper left him. He could see him, _everywhere_ , and other people, people he's never seen before, and he could barely get himself to breathe.  
He couldn't focus on anything other than that, until finally Tristan came back. His gaze snapped to him, and the man must've seen his terrified expression, because he walked over to him, where he was kneeling in his chest, and gentle cupped his face in his hands again.  
“What's wrong?”, Tristan asked, and Author calmed only slightly. The touch was relaxing, and Tristan blocked most of his sight of the room, of those people he didn't know, had never seen before.  
“I- I think I'm hallucinating.”, Author replied, and Tristan hummed lightly. He gave Author a sweet kiss, and Author relaxed under the positive attention.  
“Would you like some relief? Those nice little drugs to make you all nice and soft, and no worries about weird things you see. And you can stay with me all you like.”, Tristan said softly, pressing soft kisses to Author's cheekbones and temple. Author couldn't help but relax, and he nodded lightly. Maybe some of those drugs would help him calm down, and tomorrow he'd be okay again.

Tristan pulled Author out of the chest and with him, which Author was thankful for. He didn't want to be alone with this anymore. Being led out of the room, Author kept his gaze trained on Tristan, staying close, holding onto the other's hand. He was led to the man's study, where Tristan let go of him. Author watched him get a little bottle and syringe, and he was relaxed as he let Tristan pull the onesie to the side to inject it.  
It was quick to take effect, and Author relaxed. Tristan smiled, sitting down behind his desk, motioning for Author to take a seat next to him on the ground. Author was happy to, kneeling down and closing his eyes. He could ignore what he was seeing now, because he was barely thinking in the first place. He didn't need a high dosage, since he was compliant. He only needed to shut off his thinking.

========Nsfw now, sexual stuff is happening========

After a while, Tristan turned towards Author, patting his cheek. “Darling, come here.”, he said, and Author hummed, scooting more underneath Tristan's desk and between his legs, looking up at him with half-lidded eyes. Tristan chuckled, shifting and pulling out his dick. Author didn't even need to be told anything, he leaned in to lick all along it, breathing through his mouth as he licked and sucked on the sides of Tristan's cock.  
Once it was hard, Author happily began to suck on the tip, tongue swirling around it, running through the slit, before he began moving, sucking hard. Tristan fisted a hand in Author's hair, making the man below him moan. He loved how Author had changed from how he had been before, how obedient and happy he was now to be his toy now.

Author was very enthusiastic about sucking Tristan off, clearly enjoying the distraction. He could focus on pleasuring his owner, about doing something he was meant to be doing, and ignore all the figures around him, ignore the branded image of himself with no eyes.  
With the drugs in his system as well, he was fully relaxed, and didn't have to think a single thought, unless he wanted it. And he didn't want any inclinations of thoughts, just focused on feeling. And he was feeling good, tasting Tristan, hearing the other's harsh breaths, and feeling his grip on his hair.  
He moaned when Tristan came, swallowing it all down. The texture of cum still made him feel a bit iffy, but he was learning to love it all the same. When he tried to pull back though, Tristan held onto his hair, keeping him where he was. So, Author settled, comfortable with keeping Tristan's dick in his mouth and keeping it warm.

Eventually, he felt himself drift. The drugs were making him tired, but also hungry. Maybe he would get something nice to eat again today, maybe Tristan would even feed him again, that would be wonderful.  
He was dozing, head leaning against Tristan's thigh, mercifully placed there for him, happy with the weight and taste of cock on his tongue. Time was passing fast, mostly because Author was barely conscious, but he noted when Tristan tugged on his hair to pull him back.  
Author blinked up at Tristan, lips parted, a bit of spit dripping down his lips now. He was visibly tired, and Tristan gave him a soft smile. Grabbing a tissue, he wiped himself dry, before he pat Author's lips and chin dry as well, before gently closing his mouth for the tired and drugged man.

========End of Nsfw, no more mentions of sexual things========

“You deserve some dinner. Let's get you something, and then you can sleep.”, Tristan said, pushing back from his desk and standing up. He watched Author get up, before leading him out of the office and downstairs. Author got to sit on the ground eventually, waiting for Tristan. He kept his eyes closed, head leaning against the chair he sat next to, ignoring the knowledge of the sights around him.  
When Tristan came back, Author only opened his eyes when a plate was set in front of him. He looked up at the other, seeing him already eating, before he shifted. He shouldn't expect too much niceness, of course. So, Author ate quietly by himself, hands bracing against the ground. The drugs made him even more uncaring about this humiliating action.

Once they were done, Author was soon back in his chest. He was allowed to keep his onesie on, which was nice, because it kept Author cozy and warm, and he could snuggle into the sleeves against his face at the very least. He hoped that sleeping would help these hallucinations, that they would be gone.  
But it didn't help. His sleep was plagued by nightmares, images of himself, eyeless, blood flowing down his cheeks like tears, small and sickly looking, but smirking at him with such madness, it kept him from getting peace. He couldn't take it, the sight of himself, so different, so the same, so bloody and hurt... it was hard. More than hard.

When he woke up, he was alone, the chest opened. He sat up, finding a little note inbetween his fingers. Tristan had written him that he could eat some fruit he set on the plate by the chest, and could walk around the manor. He was busy until noon at the very least, no distractions allowed.  
Author looked out of the chest, and was met with the face of himself awfully close. He yelped, and instinctively punched the image. His fist just went through the image though, and Author screamed.  
“No no _no!_ Get _away from me! WHO ARE YOU?”_ , he sobbed, curling up, fingers digging into his cheeks. He hated this, he hated it, he couldn't _take it anymore_. His fingers were clawing at his eyes, and he was breathing heavily.  
He cried when his nails dug into his eyes, but he didn't stop, he _couldn't_ , no matter how much it hurt. He couldn't get himself to stop, because he didn't want to _see_ anymore, and he was gasping for breath as blood coated his fingers, pain throbbing in his skill.

His fingers pushed into his sockets, and he sobbed, but he clawed at his eyes, pulling, gasping and crying and barely able to breathe. It hurt, his head was throbbing, but he couldn't give a single fuck. If he didn't see, these images wouldn't haunt him anymore.  
He was trembling, losing a lot of blood quickly. It covered him, running down his cheeks like tears. It hurt, his blood was hot but he himself felt so terribly _cold_. He yanked at his eyes, nails digging into the optic nerves, pulling and pulling and _pulling._

He ripped his eyes out of their sockets with a cry, the nerves still connected to his head. Blood was dripping over his lips, and he couldn't help but taste the blood on them, nearly making him gag.  
It hurt, and he was dizzy, feeling the blood soak into his onesie. Everything hurt, he hated it, it was extremely painful, but he couldn't help it. He didn't want to see, and finally, he was there. He tugged on the eyes, uncaring, pain blossoming in the middle of his skull.  
When he finally ripped his eyes out fully, nerves snapping, he screamed in pain. He was shaking violently, blood-soaked clothing clinging to his skin. He felt dizzy, and finally, his arms fell limp to his sides. His sight was gone, and he was hurting. His head was throbbing, he was dizzy and nauseous, and there was a deep ache inside of his chest.

He heard steps quickly approaching, but he couldn't care less. He leaned against the chest, not focusing on what was happening anymore. He heard the door open, and someone came inside. There were curses, probably some other sounds, and he was picked out of the chest.  
His head lolled against the person's chest, before he lost consciousness.

He flickers in and out of consciousness for a time Author can't specify. He had no clue, only catching this and that. When he woke up, he was in a hospital bed, and alone. An IV in his arm, thick bandages around his eyes. They hadn't stopped bleeding, and Author had never felt the need to get away as strongly as now.  
He wasn't normal, they couldn't keep him here. He didn't even want to be here, he didn't want to be in a hospital, and he started to sob.  
His chest was aching, and he couldn't help it, curling up. Blood was soaking through the bandages around his eyes, but he didn't care, sobbing and sobbing. There was no one who'd care, no one who would understand. The other egos hated him, there was no way anyone would want him to be okay, to get better.  
And it _hurt_. It hurt his insides, made his head throb, and he didn't understand. He didn't think he _wanted_ understand, because it was just so much that he couldn't take it.

Trying to pull his wrists, he was met with resistance, and he struggled against his bounds. He wanted to _leave_ , he needed to _get away_ , but he couldn't, he couldn't he couldn't _he couldn't_.  
He was panicking, he couldn't handle it, he struggled and gasped between sobs to finally break free, get away, until he couldn't take it anymore. Throat hurting from his sobs, wrists hurting from his struggles, and he passed out.

His hospital wasn't very long. He met a new person, named Chase Becker, who was apparently his new owner. Tristan had apparently sold him soon after he had been informed of what Author had done.  
Author wasn't sure how he felt about that. He supposed he didn't expect anything less from someone like that. He'd been bought, and the toy broke, so he got rid of it. He didn't feel upset. But he was craving the familiarity, of the chest he's spend so much time in, of the same two people.  
Still, it was a lot when he was taken again. He didn't want to be in the hospital, and he was glad when he was taken from there. Brought to a new “home” he'd never get to see, brought to a new room he'd never see. He got a new collar, one that was softer, far more comfortable. He was laid in a bed, and blankets were pulled over him, keeping him warm. And he passed out again.

When he woke up again, it was to someone gently wiping his face clean. He flinched away from the touch instinctively, before he cowered, sniffling.  
“It's okay. I won't hurt you.”, the new voice said, which he barely recognized as Chase. His new owner. Of course. He relaxed, and Chase went back to cleaning his face.  
“I thought you'd be better off here than in the hospital. They told me how to take care of your injury, and gave me clotting agents if you happen to bleed a lot again.”, Chase explained, as the man gently pulled the bandages off to clean the rest of his sockets, and wrap them in fresh bandages.

Author stayed quiet. But his lip was trembling, and the deep set feeling inside his chest stirred again. As soon as he could, he curled up tightly again, back to crying. Chase stayed with him, silent company, only leaving when Author had quietened again, asleep.

Author didn't speak for days. Chase let him. Chase didn't try to use him, he didn't hurt him, he let him eat with cutlery, let him sleep in the soft bed and take his time. And Author spend the time crying, crying and sobbing for all he had missed, and all he would never have. If only he had been nicer. If only he hadn't hurt them. If only, if only, if only.  
And it made him feel worse and worse, feeling hate towards himself slowly rise to the top. He hated how he had been, how he had hurt the others. He hated how he had caused them to hate _him_ , while they were all one big happy family. And he wasn't part of that, he wasn't wanted. Not even wanted anywhere _near_ them.  
He hated them too. For giving up on him, for not understanding, for hating him. But he couldn't take to it, not too much, because he was blaming himself more and more. If he had been better, if he had been nicer, if he had been less curious, if if if... It didn't matter that he didn't hold all of the fault, he felt like he did, and he knew _they_ felt like he did as well.

Nightmares plagued him whenever he slept, causing him to wake up sobbing, wake up screaming. Sometimes Chase would comfort him a little, sometimes he'd give him sedatives to be calm again.  
It took him four days to speak again. And upon telling Chase he'd rather not be called Author, the man took to call him “pet” and “doll” and occasionally “toy”. Author didn't feel good with it either, but there was nothing he could do. It was better than being called by a name that wasn't him anymore. He was someone else, he felt ashamed to have been the Author, to share the same body, but he knew he would never be a bother again.  
He was someone's toy, some object, barely a pet. And the other egos would never know of his existence. They would never know who he was, they would never see him, and they would never be bothered by him. And that was good. Author was dead, and they would never have to worry about him again. And whoever he was now, whoever he was going to be, would be of no concern of them.

Eventually, Chase was done with caring for his pet. It wasn't surprising, the man had bought him not to care for him, but use him as he was intended to be used. When he pinned Author to the bed, Author let him, not caring in the slightest. It was his purpose, it was what he was here for, and he didn't care about it anymore. He was okay with receiving orders, being commanded, doing what he was told.

Chase kissed his neck, nibbling on his sensitive skin, and Author let himself enjoy it. Because what else to do but enjoy what was happening? So he leaned his head to the side, giving Chase more access, enjoying the attention he was paying to his neck. It was sensitive, more than ever probably, making Author moan softly.  
Chase's hands slid down his sides, moving beneath the sweater he was wearing. His hands caressing his sides, making Author shudder, his own hands laying limp next to his head.  
“Good pet...”, Chase murmured, nipping at Author's jaw, making him whimper softly. He wanted to be good, he loved being praised. So he'd do whatever he could to be praised, and told he was good.

========Nsfw-ish, nothing actually sexual happening yet========

Chase pushed the sweater up, moving his mouth to kiss over Author's chest. He licked over scars, tracing Author's visible ribs with his tongue. Author was shuddering and breathing heavily, loving how good it felt. Chase's hands moved down to push Author's boxers down, hands caressing the sensitive skin of his inner thighs, making Author whimper softly.  
“Aren't you precious? I've waited so long to finally get a taste of you.”, Chase hummed, trailing kisses over Author's chest, until he licked over one of Author's nipples, making him gasp. Chase brought up a hand to massage Author's chest, making the man below him moan. Author's chest was cute, little bumps beneath Chase's hands, soft to his squeezing touch. He was told Tristan never used protection with Author, so he had taken some precautions -making sure he didn't have anything from the man, however unlikely, and no pregnancy. He didn't want that on his hands.

“You feel so good.”, Chase murmured into Author's ear, squeezing both of his nipples with his hands, making Author moan and arch his back. It felt so good, and it was so good to have his own pleasure cared about.  
“Your chest is so soft in my hands. You're so responsive. You'll make a wonderful pet, no more toy.”, Chase murmured, as he continued playing with Author's nipples, making the man beneath him whimper and moan, arching into his touch. It felt so good, just to be touched and kissed and played with, with his owner not forcing himself onto Author just for sex and his own pleasure.

========Nsfw now, sexual stuff is happening========

Chase pulled away just a bit, pulling down his own pants then. He had had lube and condoms and stuff here for a while, since he was anticipating this quite a bit. So he pulled both over, happily rolling a condom over himself, before he pulled one over his fingers. He liked it clean, though sex never was, especially with using lube. But, the comfort of his pet was also rather high on his list, so he made sure to use lube.  
“I'm so excited for this pet. Aren't you?”, he hummed, pouring some lube onto his condomed fingers, and rubbing them through Author's folds. It made Author shudder, breathing heavily as the cool liquid was spread. He gasped when Chase rubbed over his clit, making him clench around nothing.  
“Very excited indeed.”, Chase hummed, pushing his fingers into Author. It caused a moan, and Chase watched with rap-attention as Author drowned in pleasure slowly. He's heard how he's been in the beginning, being his second owner. He wasn't sure just how long exactly Author had been a slave, but it couldn't be all too long. Everything beneath a few years wasn't very long, and Author was definitely just a few months at most.

“Good boy. Taking this so well.”, Chase murmured, pressing kisses to Author's face, making the man melt under the attention. He soaked up the positive attention, and Chase loved it. Sure, he wouldn't _always_ be this nice, but he'd train Author to be the perfect pet, and then he'd love _everything_ he could possibly do to him.  
He happily fingered Author, watching the man beneath him, moaning and clenching around his fingers, bandages nice and clean. Even with the strong emotions, they weren't bleeding a lot, thankfully. Chase didn't mint their weirdness, there was worse than some blood that didn't want to stop.

After he had teased Author sufficiently, he pulled his fingers out again, pulling off the condom and throwing it on a tissue on the bedsidetable. He poured some lube onto his dick then, before pushing into Author slowly.  
“ _Fuck_ you feel better than I thought.”, he breathed out, pushing until he bottomed out. He leaned down, kissing Author, who happily kissed him back. Intertwining his hands with Author's, he was fine leaning over the man as he was now, happy to begin thrusting into Author, fucking into him roughly. Author gasped and moaned loudly as the man pounded into him, looking so _beautiful_ beneath Chase, loving how his face contorted, how his lips parted, how he pressed his head back into the pillows.  
“Good boy. Such a wonderful pet.”, Chase murmured into Author's ear, panting against it, listening to Author pant and moan. He wasn't even surprised when Author was quick to reach his orgasm, from the teasing he had done before. Still, he couldn't help but moan lowly into Author's ear as his pet came, clenching and twitching around him.  
Chase kept fucking into Author, watching the man beneath him gasp with each thrust, oversensitive and wonderful. Until he came himself, moaning as he shallowly thrust into Author, until he came down from his own orgasm.

He waited a bit, just taking in the expression on Author's face, how wonderful he looked, full of bliss and no bad thoughts anymore. Then he pulled out, pulled the condom off to tie and discard to the other. With some tissues, he wiped himself and Author clean a bit roughly, before laying down with Author.

========End of Nsfw, no more mentions of sexual things========

Chase snuggled close to Author, burying his face in the back of Author's neck, arms wrapped around his middle. Author was comfortable, relaxed and exhausted now. He was quick to drift off to sleep, just like Chase was behind him.

Author easily took to being a pet. Chase made sure he didn't get hurt, and Author was used to crawling around and being on his knees a lot anyways. And Author was never locked away into a cramped space, always had water to drink whenever he wants, and gets food regularly, allowed to eat with his hands.  
He had time to figure himself out. A lot of the time, he was still plagued by nightmares, waking up sobbing and sometimes screaming. He spend a lot of his awake time sobbing as well, until he finally came to terms of who he was, of what he had done.

It took a bit more time before he knew who he was now, though. He was curled up in the corner, frantically muttering “Host Host Host Host Host” to himself, hands buried in his hair, unaware of the golden strand showing in it. “I'm the Host, I'm the Host, I'm the Host-”, he kept going and going, not noticing when Chase walked in, walked over to him, and sat down next to him. He wrapped an arm around Host, pulling him close against himself, running a hand through Host's hair.  
“It's alright Host. It's alright.”, Chase murmured softly, as Host trailed off with his words, and was instead just crying now. Blood was staining his bandages and cheeks, but Chase could take care of it later. Right now, he was here to calm Host down, make him feel a bit better.

Once Host was quiet and had calmed down again, and Chase was certain the other could manage actual words again.  
“Are you okay now?”, Chase asked, with no hint of annoyance, just concern. It made Host feel better, and he nuzzled against the other, holding onto his clothes. He knew Chase was rich, but he was more or less casually dressed at home, which Host appreciated a lot. Tristan's suits had always been so rough against his skin.  
“I think so.”, he replied softly, nodding lightly. He felt a lot better now, though something in his chest still hurt. He didn't know what, but it _hurt_.  
“That's good.”, Chase said softly. “Host, is it? It's nice.”, he hummed, and Host managed a little smile. Even if he was still feeling like he was missing a piece of himself, he felt closer to it now than he had before.  
“Do you want to talk about it?”, Chase asked softly then, and Host thought with quiet sniffles. Eventually, he shifted a little, cuddling more into Chase's side.  
“I was a very bad person. And I regret that a lot.”, he said quietly, and Chase hummed. He played with Host's hair, twirling the golden strand between his fingers. He didn't care too much about Host's past, whatever and whoever he had been. But, he cared for his pet, because a happy pet was a good pet.

“You don't have to think about that anymore. You're my wonderful pet now, and who you were before doesn't matter.”, Chase said softly, pressing a kiss to Host's hair. “And thus, I shall clean you up, and then we won't waste another thought on the past.”.  
Chase gently helped Host sit upright, before standing. He left for a moment, to get a washcloth and fresh bandages, before he came back to Host. He could get a new name tag for his collar now, since he had found his new name yet. It wouldn't stop him from calling him other pet names though, like he usually did.  
When he came back, he pulled off the bandages, not bothered by the empty sockets. He cleaned Host's face up gently, before wrapping his eyes in the bandages again. Host was a curious being, but Chase didn't care too much. Host was much more interesting as a pet, and he liked seeing him on the ground for him.

Host was quiet, letting Chase. He was right. The past didn't matter. No matter how much he hated himself, no matter how much he regretted what he did, no matter how guilty he felt. It didn't matter, because he would never see the others again, and he would never get the chance to talk to them ever again.

And as the days went by, Host settled into being a pet nicely. He got used to himself, he discovered he'd rather talk in third person now -which led him to calling _himself_ the pet names Chase used as well. And he was forgetting about his worries slowly, pushing them away.  
He still had nightmares, sometimes he still woke up screaming and his face covered in blood. Sometimes, he was still curled up in a corner, sobbing and shaking. Most of the time, he was with Chase, mumbling and mumbling to himself, whenever Chase didn't occupy his mouth otherwise.  
Host wasn't unhappy. He didn't dare call himself happy either, though, because he didn't feel like he deserved to be happy. He was treated far too nicely to consider this punishment enough for all he's done. Even if he carried traumas with him now, were they any worse than he one _he_ had caused? No. He didn't deserve anything good like this.

He hadn't had a conscious thought -nightmares didn't count as that- about the egos in... in months. It had been months, hadn't it? The manor had air conditioning, so he didn't notice temperature shifts. And he was always allowed his sweater and boxers, and by now kneepads had been added to his usual outfit, as it made crawling much more comfortable.  
He had migrated to a lot of normal pet behaviours. Not using his hands a lot, not talking more than his mumblings, not getting on furniture if he wasn't explicitly told he could.

So he was kneeling on the ground, his arms laying on the couch, head resting on them. He liked being in the foyer, because it amplified his voice to an extend, and he liked that. He was only mumbling, of course, but he still could hear the effect. When there was a knock on the door, he ignored it, because he wasn't a proper person. But, he heard Chase. He walked past him and gave him a head-pat, making Host give a soft happy sound, before he was back to mumbling, and listening.  
Chase was usually alone here. He was out for work a lot, leaving Host alone, but he didn't mind. Cleaning staff came around daily, sometime in the morning, usually after Chase left, and Host was napping in bed. They fully ignored him, and he fully ignored them.

The front door wasn't far away from him. He was in direct line of sight, actually.  
“Are you Chase Becker?”, came a voice, a voice that send shudders down Host's spine. He shifted, tensing.  
“I am. How can I help you, gentlemen?”, Chase asked, looking as relaxed as ever. Host didn't dare try and see who was outside, he didn't want to.  
“We've been searching for an... acquaintance.”, the same voice said, before another -much kinder, and much less familiar- chimed in.  
“You bought him as a slave. He was called Author?”.  
Chase straightened some, while Host pulled his arms down from the couch, hiding behind the coffee table more, curling up as he sat with his side to the door, hoping no one would notice him, as he hid his face in his arms.

“What do you want from him?”, Chase countered. He was defensive, and Host was glad for it. Chase would protect him, would make sure he'd.. he could stay here.  
“I want to check on him.”, the kinder voice said, sounding somewhat anxious? “He's- well, I'm a doctor, and we're sort of family, and I just- I'm worried.”.  
Chase took them in for a bit more, before he was suddenly taking a step back. It worried Host, but he couldn't really do anything. Just sit here and wait.  
“I'll talk to him. I'll be back in a second.”, Chase said, pulling the door near closed, before he walked over to Host in big steps. He kneeled down next to him, gently laying a hand on his shoulder.

“Did you take a look at them?”, Chase asked softly. They discovered some of Host's powers, mainly his Sight. Host couldn't muster a reply though, so he shook his head lightly.  
“One of them is a doctor. Plain looking, wearing a head-mirror for some reason, kind of chubby. He seems very anxious to see you.”, Chase described, and Host nodded lightly. Doctor Iplier. He had only met him briefly, so he didn't know much about him.  
“The other's... grey. Literally. Pristine suit, black eyes, eyeliner. I could hear ringing in my ears being close to him.”, Chase continued, noting how much more Host tensed at that. Definitely Dark. The one who hated him the most, who'd rather have him dead than ever have him close to his manor.

“I can tell you don't like the grey one. Do you want the doctor to see you? I'll make sure the other one doesn't get close to you, pet.”, Chase said softly, gently petting Host's back. He could feel how tense he was, how he didn't want those people here.  
“If he must.”, Host replied quietly. “The Host trusts Chase to keep Dark away from him. Doctor Iplier.. will hopefully be alright.”, his voice was quiet, shaking a little, and Chase nodded.  
“Alright pet. You sit on the couch, okay? I'll fetch them, and make sure nothing will happen.”.

Chase walked over to the door, and Host climbed onto the couch. He curled up again, hiding in his sweater, hiding from the people he knew he couldn't hide from. He didn't want to listen to them talk more, and thus he stayed silent, waiting, not listening, not mumbling. Blood was soaking into his bandages, but they didn't bleed through. They always wrapped them tightly, and thickly.

He startled when there was someone else with him, Sight flashing. The doctor was with him, and Chase was with Dark a few feet away, keeping the suited man away from him, though both of their gazes were on them.  
“Author?..”, Iplier asked quietly. He carefully sat down next to Host, but with enough room for the other to not feel crowded.  
“No.”, Host replied quietly. “The doctor is talking with the Host.”, Host replied quietly. He could feel the confusion rolling off of Iplier in waves, and he pressed himself into the corner a bit more.  
“Host?”, Iplier asked, tilting his head. “I'm sorry, I'm... quite confused.”, he continued, and Host could practically _feel_ the man's gaze on his bandages.  
“The Author is gone. All that is left is the Host.”, Host explained, voice quiet, and he sounded.... scared. Iplier nodded lightly, thinking it over. It was... a lot.

“Alright. Host. I'm Doctor Iplier.”, he said, hoping another introduction may help Host relax a little. “Obviously, I'm a doctor. And I'd like to check on you, if that's alright.”.  
Host shifted, relaxing a tiny bit. Iplier was very nice to him so far, and he wanted to trust him to not hurt him. And Chase was nearby. Even though the man was _nothing_ against Dark, his presence made Host feel better.  
“Okay.”, he replied softly. “The Host- isn't fond of his eyes being examined.”, he said quietly, not yet quite willing to uncurl.  
“I won't ask any questions about them. I'd really like to take a look at them, but I won't, if you don't want me to.”, Iplier said softly in return. He _really_ wanted to check on them, because having them wrapped so tightly didn't bode well, and he was very worried about them.  
“The... the doctor... can. He can look. If- only if he makes sure Dark doesn't see. Please.”, Host mumbled. Iplier smiled softly, and didn't move until Host had uncurled, and nodded lightly at the other. He still seemed tense, but Iplier very gently shifted the two of them so Iplier was shielding Host from Dark.

“I'll unwrap the bandages now, okay? I have some fresh ones with me, always just in case, you never know. But I can use these again, if they're clean, of course.”, Iplier said, rambling a little as he began unwrapping the bandages -once he had gotten a nod from Host.  
He couldn't help the gasp when he discovered what laid behind the bandages. Empty sockets stared back at him, and Iplier wasn't sure how it could be possible. But this- was an ego, he reminded himself. Egos were strange beings that could survive a lot of things, and work in mysterious ways.  
“Can I examine them a lit further? I'll announce whatever I'm doing first.”, Iplier asked after a minute, and Host nodded lightly again. Iplier pulled out a little flashlight, telling Host what he was going to do before he did, and shined the light into the sockets. He could see where Host had ripped out his eyes, the nerves, could see wounds inside the sockets. It didn't look good.  
“Do they hurt?”, Iplier asked softly, worried. What did Host _do?  
_“Sometimes.”, Host replied quietly, fiddling with the end of his sleeves. “Sometimes Host can't sleep because of pain, sometimes it's a throbbing that doesn't seem to leave. Sometimes it's worse than other times.”.

Iplier nodded lightly, making a soft sound. That was _really_ worrisome. “Can I.. Can I, well, it's not really poking around in them, but they don't look good, and whatever happened was... not good. I'm guessing you were in the hospital after whatever happened, but they clearly didn't do too good of a job.”, Iplier explained, and Host listened quietly. He was afraid of mumbling, so he didn't, obviously.  
“Iplier.. can “poke around” in them. As.. as long as it doesn't hurt. Too much.”, Host said softly, and Iplier sighed softly, relaxing.  
“I'll be gentle.”, he said softly. He pulled out some tiny tools he carried with him, of course he did, he hadn't had a _clue_ in what state they might've found Author in, what he might've had to do.

He was as gentle as possible as he worked in Host's eyes. Little pained sounds left Host now and then, but he never complained, or asked Iplier to stop. Iplier still paused whenever he accidentally hurt Host, and tried to give him little warnings whenever he could.

When Iplier was done, Dark approached, fed up with waiting. As soon as the man was close enough Host could hear his ringing, Host scrambled off the couch, hiding behind the side of it away from Dark, curling up tightly and trembling. Dark lowered his gaze at the cowering man, while Iplier stood up to stand in his way, Chase joining them as well, clearly unhappy about Host whimpering.  
“So?”, Dark addressed Iplier, completely ignoring Host and Chase.  
“He's not the Author.”, Iplier said, and before Dark moved or spoke, he continued, “He's the Host, now. He's terrified of us, of _you_ , and has lost his eyes. I don't know more, and I won't ask for more at this point in time.”, Iplier replied. Dark scoffed, clasping his hands behind his back. Host was, in his eyes, pathetic.  
“Are you sated then?”, Dark asked, and Iplier bristled with anger, before quickly calming himself.  
“ _No_. But I think we should leave.”, Iplier replied, and Dark gave a court nod. He turned to Chase, who was looking quite... protective, perhaps. Perhaps possessive. Perhaps something else.

Host flinched when Chase was suddenly back with him, brought back into awareness. Dark and Iplier were gone, and it was just the two of them again. Host gasped for breath, and Chase gently pulled him close to himself as he knelt next to him.  
“It's alright. They're gone.”, Chase murmured, and Host clung to him, sobbing. It took quite a while for Host to calm down again, and Chase let him take all the time he needed. He had barely talked with Dark, but he knew they were from Host's past, and he knew he didn't give a shit about them. He told them he didn't want them back, unless Host allowed them in again.

And come again they did. Dark and Iplier, once more. And Host turned them away, told Chase he didn't want to see them anymore. Thankfully, they left without much of a complaint.  
They came again though, but Dark only dropped Iplier off. Host was still reluctant, but Iplier talked with him and Chase while still standing outside. Host was still a bit reluctant, but he let Iplier inside, because his eyes had felt a lot better since Iplier had poked at them.  
Iplier was really glad he got to come inside, and he hoped he could talk a little more with Host. He was worried about him, how he had changed so drastically from what little he had seen from Author, and from all he had heard.

Chase brought Host and Iplier to the living room, so the two could talk, without Chase being too far away. Host was obviously nervous without Chase there, but he knew Chase was close enough that he would hear him if Host called for him.  
He was seated in an armchair, and Iplier away from him on the couch. They were facing each other, and Host could hear Chase nearby, settling down to work on his laptop. Close enough he would be able to hear Host and Iplier though, and could be there to comfort Host if he needed him.

“Host, right?”, Iplier started, making sure he got it right. It was still weird. It had been Author, Host had confirmed it, but it... it was still strange to think about, truthfully.  
“Yes.”, Host confirmed, nodding lightly. “And Host is speaking to Doctor Iplier.”.  
“Yeah.”, Iplier nodded lightly. He was fiddling with his fingers, feeling a little uncertain. The presence of Dark had clearly made Host uncomfortable previously, and thus he had been able to convince the man wouldn't stay this time. Dark had told him if anything happened to him, it was his own fault. Iplier didn't want to believe Host would hurt him though, he seemed... not like he would.  
“How... how are you feeling?”, Iplier asked, because that was what was most important to him. He wanted Host to be okay, no matter what he was or who he had been.  
“The Host's... nervous. But he's not in pain, and he's ready to talk with Iplier. He knows the doctor has a lot of questions.”, Host replied softly. He was a little scared about talking about things, but... he supposed he could trust Iplier enough. He seemed nice, a doctor, and he seemed like he cared.  
“Alright. But you can always just tell me no.”, Iplier said, and he was smiling softly, and Host relaxed. Iplier seemed really nice, and caring, and Host wanted to trust him.

“Do you want to tell me about what happened that brought you into this situation?”, Iplier asked softly. He knew that was a topic Host probably didn't want to talk about, but he wanted to ask anyways.  
Host fidgeted, looking away. That had been... so long ago. He wasn't sure how long, but months at least. He'd been some time with Tristan, and he's been with Chase even longer.  
“Author had been.. kidnapped, on his way home. Drugged and sold at an auction.”, Host replied softly. He's never talked about it, of course, since no one ever cared about where he came from.  
“I'm sorry that happened to you.”, Iplier said softly, causing a small, sad smile from Host.  
“He deserved it.”, he retorted, and Iplier couldn't look more hurting. He hurt for Host, for Author. Because he didn't deserve it, _no one_ deserved something like that.

“Do you want to tell me what happened with your eyes?”, Iplier asked softly then, because he _really_ wanted to know, and he was _really_ worried about them as well. He could see Host's hesitance of replying, and he wanted to tell him again, that he didn't have to reply, but Host beat him to it.  
“Author... hallucinated. Or so he thought. He didn't want to see it anymore, and in a panicked frenzy... he.. ripped his eyes out.”, Host told Iplier. He was obviously tense, tugging at his sleeves a little, fidgeting.  
“Oh, that... oh Host...”, Iplier couldn't imagine that. How painful it must have been, how much Host must have suffered. All on his own, with some person who didn't see Host as a person.  
“It's fine. Host is fine.”, Host mumbled, tense, hugging himself pretty much, and Iplier so badly wanted to comfort the other, but was unable to. Host would never want him close to him, yet alone touch him.

“No, it's.. Host, it's not fine. Going through that, it must have been horrible. And you don't deserve this here either. You deserve to be treated like a person, not like a slave, or an object, or an animal.”, Iplier replied, looking so worried and hurt. He was trying to speak quiet enough Chase didn't hear, as he wasn't sure what the man would take from him talking like this.  
Host was trembling slightly, and when a sniffle came from him, Iplier knew he was crying. “Host _does_. He deserves so much worse. He's- he's hurt the Jims, and- and King _so badly_. Host deserves worse than what he did to them. He's- he's-”, he broke off with a sob, hands curling into his hair, pulling on it. He hated himself so much for all he's done, he couldn't take it.  
Iplier couldn't help himself, he scooted a little closer to Host and laid a hand onto his back, glad when Host didn't try and get away from him.  
“I know Host. But that was the Author. And, as far as I'm aware, you're _not_ the Author. You're the Host. And you're a wonderful person.”, Iplier said softly, gently rubbing Host's back. What he didn't expect was Host to lean against him, but he took it as invitation. He slowly wrapped his arms around Host, giving him chances to pull away, before tightening his hold slightly.

Host was sobbing, and Iplier was holding him gently but surely against himself. He could see the blood soaking into Host's bandages, and he was guessing he bled from strong emotions, which worried him. Losing blood was never good, and he didn't want Host to be getting sick. But, he wanted to comfort Host for now, and when he stopped crying, he could.. well, he supposed he _couldn't_ clean him up, but still.

Host calmed down slowly, but didn't pull away from Iplier, so he kept his arm securely around him, gently rocking him against him. He was worried for Host, and he wanted to get him away from here. This was no place to be, Host was a person, and should be treated as such. But how could he get Host home, especially with Dark not wanting anything to do with him?  
“Host's fine.”, Host's voice was quiet, words breaking as he spoke them, and Iplier gently squeezed him. He knew Host _wasn't_ fine.  
“No, Host. You're not fine. And that's okay. It's okay to not be okay, it's okay to feel bad.”, Iplier murmured. He didn't want Host to think he wasn't allowed to feel bad, and that he wasn't allowed to ever feel truly happy. Host didn't deserve this, he clearly regrets what he's done to the others.  
“Don't you want to go home? No one touched your cabin. It's still there, waiting for you. I can help you go home. I'd like if you could go home.”, Iplier spoke softly, so Chase wouldn't hear him. He wanted Host to go home, he wanted Host to be okay, but he couldn't help if he didn't want it himself.

“Host.. he doesn't deserve to go home.”, Host said quietly. He didn't try to move away from Iplier, so the doctor took it as a good sign.  
“You do. You're allowed to go home, you deserve to be treated good.”, Iplier replied, gently hugging Host a little tighter against himself. Host deserved so much more good than he was getting.  
“Host.. Host shouldn't.”, Host's resolve was crumbling away, and Iplier could tell.  
“I want to take care of you Host. I want to make sure you're happy. Because you deserve it. You deserve the best.”, Iplier murmured. If he could get Host to agree to go home with him, Iplier could convince Dark to take him home.  
“Host doesn't deserve to be hurt?”, Host asked quietly, and Iplier knew he had to be careful. Host was leaning towards this idea, and Iplier needed him to want to go home. He'd worry about the how later.  
“Host doesn't deserve to be hurt. You deserve to be happy. And I want to help you. You are _not_ the Author. You're _Host_. And Host deserves the world.”, Iplier continued. He could get Dark to bring Host home. He would protect Host, from everyone, for as long as he had to.

Host was quiet then, obviously thinking. Iplier let him, just holding him. He wanted to help Host, but he couldn't if Host didn't want him to. Host had opened up a lot with him, but Iplier was worried that was only because Host felt obligated to answer his questions.  
“Host.. Host wants to go with Iplier.”, Host mumbled quietly, and Iplier wasn't sure he had heard it right. But, he wouldn't ask Host to repeat himself, because he was certain Host had had a hard enough time saying it once.  
“I'll help you go home. It might not be tomorrow, but soon. I promise. I'll come get you.”, Iplier said softly, and he felt Host nod lightly against him. It made Iplier smile softly, and he was glad he could help Host.

Leaving Host then was hard. Iplier wanted to take Host with him immediately, make sure he was safe, that no one would hurt him again. But he couldn't, because he knew Dark would never want to have Host with them.  
Getting Dark to agree took quite a bit. Iplier had to argue his case quite passionately, and it took days until he managed to make Dark agree to take Host home. And Dark was very adamant of talking to Host first, before he let him anywhere _near_ anyone else.

Getting Host wasn't that hard. Dark easily “convinced” Chase to let Host go, especially since Chase apparently didn't care _too_ much about it. Host had been a good pet, but also a lot of work, and he'd prefer a new one that was easier to take care of.  
Host was glad when Iplier was back, and he slowly walked with him, clutching Iplier's hand in both of his own. He was _terrified_ of Dark, of seeing the other egos, but he trusted Iplier.

But Host could feel Dark's cold gaze on him, the hatred and distrust rolling off of Dark in thick clouds, that made Host feel sick. He wasn't sure if he really deserved something good. Iplier was with him though, holding his hand tightly, letting him hide behind him, and Host tried to trust Iplier more than himself.  
Stepping through the void was odd, and Host clung to Iplier like a lifeline. It made Iplier really worried, and he wished he could help Host more, but he couldn't. He couldn't at this moment, because Dark didn't trust Host in any way. And he was forced to leave Host alone with Dark, because if he didn't, Dark would just throw Host out again without giving him a chance. So Iplier left, but stayed right inside the front door, waiting for either being allowed back outside, or them coming in.

“Author.”, Dark said, and Host flinched, holding his hands tightly to his chest. Dark watched the other, how he trembled, visibly afraid of him. He could just be playing, Dark was aware, but from what he's gathered from Chase, and even Tristan, it seemed genuine.  
Host couldn't take it, falling to his knees, clutching the sweater in his hands. “Host's sorry, so so sorry- please, he begs Dark, Host regrets everything he's done.”, Host broke down into sobs, head bowed as he shook. Dark just looked down at him in distaste, letting the Host cry, blood soaking into his bandages.  
Stepping forward, Dark grabbed Host's hair, pulling his head back to make him look up at him. Grabbing his bandages, Dark pulled them down, exposing Host's empty eyesockets. Host didn't fight him, blood dripping down from them and running down his cheeks like tears.

“You don't deserve to be here.”, Dark said coldly, and Host sobbed.  
“Host doesn't.”, he replied, agreed, because he knew he didn't. He didn't deserve to be here. “Host- should be treated- should be hurt worse than- than he hurt the egos.”.  
Dark stayed quiet, watching Host. “You should be.”, he said then, and Host nodded as much as he could while his hair was held so tightly.  
“Host- Iplier said Host- Host could try and help. He's- He's hurt the others, and he.. he can't change that, but, he'd- he'd like to take those scars. Please- Host- Host doesn't want to be forgiven, he just- he- he's _so sorry_ -”, Host sobbed, shaking, and a small part of Dark felt bad. This was one of the egos after all, one of their kind. If things had been different, he would've been a part of their family, like everyone else.  
But it hadn't happened like that. Author had _tortured_ part of his family, and he got what he deserved. It may have been harsh what Author had gone through, but it wasn't comparable to what the Jims and King had gone through.

Dark let go of Host's hair, shaking his head. Of course Dark was no better than Author had been, but Dark didn't waste thoughts on that. He didn't care what Author had gone through, as he had deserved it for all he's done. For all the pain he had brought. He didn't care if this “wasn't” the Author anymore. It was who he had been, and it was who he would stay to be.  
Dark didn't say another word, leaving the sobbing Host kneeling on the ground where he was, pulling open the front door. Iplier was immediately startled, standing to attention as he looked up at Dark.  
“If he does _anything_ , it's on you.”, Dark said to the doctor, walking past him. Immediately, Iplier ran outside, to Host's side, kneeling down and pulling him against himself.

“You're safe now, you're okay. I promise, you'll be okay, I'll make sure of that. No one will hurt you anymore, it'll be okay.”, Iplier murmured soft reassurances to Host, holding him tightly. Of course nothing Author had done could be forgotten, maybe not even be forgiven, but he hoped Host would have a chance.  
Host deserves so much better than this.

**Author's Note:**

> I'VE BEEN WRITING THIS FOR AT LEAST A WEEK I SWEAR TO GOD  
> I HATE EVERYTHING  
> IT'S S O M U C H  
> SOMEONE SAVE ME  
> sorry if the end wasn't too good, because I REALLY wanted this to be over with already lol  
> anyways, FIFTEEN _THOUSAND_ WORDS FUCK MY L I F E  
> im excited to write more things, other things, fucking FINALLY, if this hasn't drained me completely already


End file.
